Excerpt from THE FORGER OF MARSEILLE, a novel, by Linda Joy Myers
What’s in a Name?
That October of 1939, autumn transformed Paris into a lush painting. The trees didn’t know of war, the leaves a magical yellow, crimson, and amber. Six weeks after war started, the people of the City of Light continued to dance and eat and sing in the streets, wearing optimism and cheer like a new dress. Except for bomb shelters spread through the city and uniformed soldiers sitting in cafés, Paris seemed the same as before the war, people going to work and enjoying the theater and cabarets, gas mask cases cast aside as they determined not to be dour simply because there was a war raging in Poland, far, far away.
The most painful reminders of the war were the shuttered museums, empty of the art that made up the soul of Paris. Without Van Gogh and Matisse, Monet and Renoir, and art that spoke of culture and history, Simone felt bereft. And the Winged Victory. She’d flown to safety in the countryside where she’d be safe along with her sister, the Venus de Milo. When would the world see them again?
As she walked to the café to meet César, it was clear that art couldn’t be her focus now. Her dear César had his secret work in the underground workshop, and it meant something. It had a purpose. He had a purpose, but now she wanted to prove that she could help.
When she arrived at Café de Flore, César was leaning back in his chair, slowly smoking his cigarette. His jet-black hair and dark eyes made her heart pound. She was smitten by his kind nature, and she admired the toughness of someone who’d survived the Spanish war. She tried to appear calm. “Bonjour,” Simone greeted him, playacting. “My name is Simone DuBois. What is yours?” She held out her hand, trying on her new name for the first time. No longer was she Sarah, the Jewish girl from Berlin.
Grinning, César whispered, “Names. What do they mean, really?”
She smiled. How could one ever know for sure who another is? Names and family lineage had been the way people established trust, but the Nazis made that dangerous for millions of Jews. And now the French were doing the same.
“You and I have a great deal in common.” He leaned back and sipped his coffee.
“We do?”
“We’re survivors. And we’re like chameleons. We change our colors as necessary.”
Simone said, “How do we ever know who people are?”
César tapped his cigarette ash and looked at her. Waiters bustled by. Sirens screamed. His eyes were dark and mysterious, and an amused smile played on his lips.
She wanted to persuade him to let her into his forging business. Whenever she’d visited the workshop, she’d practiced copying a few signatures in the documents stacked on the desk. But she’d gone even further than that. Using small brushes, she copied the official’s stamps.
Leaning close she whispered, “I know you need more people to do your work. You can’t keep up with the flood of refugees coming into Paris—the Russians and Romanians, Spaniards, the Czechs—so many. It’s getting heated now. I want to help.”
She slid the papers toward him, knowing he needed more help trying to save people. Paris had become a city of lost souls. César knew that the gendarmes were combing the city, plucking refugees from alleyways and empty buildings and apartments. The police carried rifles and marched the refugees to lorries and forced them to climb inside for a one-way journey to the internment camps.
César examined the papers she gave him. He looked up, a slight smile playing on his lips. “It’s, well, it’s more than excellent. You’re very talented, but let me understand something—you want to be part of this? You’re not worried about being caught?”
She straightened her shoulders. “You’re doing it. And the men at the studio. My work is better than some of theirs. You know that.”
“Well, it’s not that. It’s—”
“It’s what? That I’m a girl—” she huffed.
“No! It’s very dangerous, and you’re young. You have a whole life ahead of you. Do you have any idea what might happen should you be caught? I’m used to living with this kind of danger. But you have your art and gallery openings.”
“So I’m just a frivolous young girl who tinkers with art!” Her neck felt hot. She tucked the papers in her satchel and stood up. “I still think art is important even if the world is burning!” The heat of anger flushed her face.
“Wait, Simone. Please.” He touched her shoulder.
She shook him off and glared at him.
“Please, come closer so I can tell you something.” His voice was soft, inviting.
“I feel the same way you do about this war,” she said. “I need to do something to help here.”
“I want to tell you something.” He rested his hand on her shoulder again and tried to pull her toward him, but she didn’t give.
His scent was intoxicating, musky, with a hint of spice, and the game they were playing gave her a thrill. He lifted her chin with his forefinger, his breath on her cheek. His eyes caught hers, those dark eyes. He whispered. “Tomás Vidal.”
She pulled back and gave him a curious look.
César said, “He is Spanish. A Catalonian in exile. He has chosen to live as a Frenchman. Until he can go home.”
“You were born Tomás Vidal?” she whispered, trying to align that name with César’s face. So he’d changed his name, too.
“Oui.” He gave her a wink. “And that César, he’s very conservative and careful. But Tomás, he thinks you should have a chance to use your talent.”
Simone wrapped her arms around this complicated man with the two names. “Thank Tomás for me and tell César that I will be at his studio in the morning.”
Smiling, he nuzzled her neck. “My new forger.” Then he softly kissed her on the lips. “Mi amor.”
“Je t’aime,” Simone whispered.
(c) 2023 Linda Joy Myers
THE FORGER OF MARSEILLE by Linda Joy Myers
It’s 1939, and all across Europe the Nazis are coming for Jews and anti-fascists. The only way to avoid being imprisoned or murdered is to assume a new identity. For that, people are desperate for papers. And for that, the underground needs forgers.
In Paris, Sarah, a young Jewish artist originally from Berlin, along with her music teacher and father figure, Mr. Lieb, meet Cesar, a Spanish Republican who knows well the brutality of fleeing fascism. He soon recognizes Sarah’s gift. She will become the underground’s new forger.
When the war reaches Paris, the trio joins thousands of other refugees in a chaotic exodus south. In Marseille, they’re received by friends, but they’re also now part of a resistance the government is actively hunting. Sarah, now Simone, continues her forgery work in the shadows, expertly creating false papers that will mean the difference between life and a horrifying death for many. When Mr. Lieb is arrested and imprisoned in Les Milles internment camp, Simone, Cesar, and their friends vow to rescue him, enlisting the help of American journalist Varian Fry, known for plotting the escapes of high- profile people like Andre Breton and Marc Chagall. In this enlightening and thrilling story of war, love, and courage, author Linda Joy Myers explores identity, ingenuity, and the power of art to save lives.
Women’s Fiction Historical [She Writes Press, On Sale: July 11, 2023, e-Book, ISBN: 9781647422318 / ]
Buy THE FORGER OF MARSEILLE: Kindle | BN.com | Amazon CA | Amazon UK | Amazon DE | Amazon FR
About Linda Joy Myers
LINDA JOY MYERS has always been deliciously haunted by the power of the past to affect people in the stream of time. She has integrated her passion for history and her own struggles with intergenerational trauma into her work as a therapist and writer. The power of the truth to educate current generations about the past led Linda Joy to explore the little-known history of WWII in the weeks following the fall of France—which in turn led her to write The Forger of Marseille. She is the author of two memoirs, Don’t Call Me Mother and Song of the Plains, and four books on memoir writing. She’s also the founder of the National Association of Memoir Writers. You can learn more about Linda Joy’s
work at her website.
She lives in Berkeley, CA
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